“For two years I dwelt in a forest, eating nothing save roots and
herbs; yet I found it a good life, so open you the door.”
They welcomed him with honour, and Kaherdin showed him the wall and
the dungeon keep with all their devices, and from the battlements he
showed the plain where far away gleamed the tents of Duke Riol. And
when they were down in the castle again he said to Tristan:
“Friend, let us go to the hall where my mother and sister sit.”
So, holding each other’s hands, they came into the women’s room, where
the mother and the daughter sat together weaving gold upon English
cloth and singing a weaving song. They sang of Doette the fair who
sits alone beneath the white-thorn, and round about her blows the
wind. She waits for Doon, her friend, but he tarries long and does not
come. This was the song they sang. And Tristan bowed to them, and they
to him. Then Kaherdin, showing the work his mother did, said:
“See, friend Tristan, what a work-woman is here, and how marvellously
she adorns stoles and chasubles for the poor minsters, and how my
sister’s hands run thread of gold upon this cloth. Of right, good
sister, are you called, ‘Iseult of the White Hands.’”
But Tristan, hearing her name, smiled and looked at her more gently.
And on the morrow, Tristan, Kaherdin, and twelve young knights left
the castle and rode to a pinewood near the enemy’s tents. And sprang
from ambush and captured a waggon of Count Riol’s food; and from that
day, by escapade and ruse they would carry tents and convoys and kill
off men, nor ever come back without some booty; so that Tristan and
Kaherdin began to be brothers in arms, and kept faith and tenderness,
as history tells. And as they came back from these rides, talking
chivalry together, often did Kaherdin praise to his comrade his
sister, Iseult of the White Hands, for her simplicity and beauty.
One day, as the dawn broke, a sentinel ran from the tower through the
halls crying:
“Lords, you have slept too long; rise, for an assault is on.”
And knights and burgesses armed, and ran to the walls, and saw helmets
shining on the plain, and pennons streaming crimson, like flames, and
all the host of Riol in its array. Then the Duke and Kaherdin deployed
their horsemen before the gates, and from a bow-length off they
stooped, and spurred and charged, and they put their lances down
together and the arrows fell on them like April rain.
Now Tristan had armed himself among the last of those the sentinel had
roused, and he laced his shoes of steel, and put on his mail, and his
spurs of gold, his hauberk, and his helm over the gorget, and he
mounted and spurred, with shield on breast, crying:
“Carhaix!”
And as he came, he saw Duke Riol charging, rein free, at Kaherdin, but
Tristan came in between. So they met, Tristan and Duke Riol. And at
the shock, Tristan’s lance shivered, but Riol’s lance struck Tristan’s
horse just where the breast-piece runs, and laid it on the field.
But Tristan, standing, drew his sword, his burnished sword, and said:
“Coward! Here is death ready for the man that strikes the horse before
the rider.”
But Riol answered:
“I think you have lied, my lord!”
And he charged him.
And as he passed, Tristan let fall his sword so heavily upon his helm
that he carried away the crest and the nasal, but the sword slipped on
the mailed shoulder, and glanced on the horse, and killed it, so that
of force Duke Riol must slip the stirrup and leap and feel the ground.
Then Riol too was on his feet, and they both fought hard in their
broken mail, their ’scutcheons torn and their helmets loosened and
lashing with their dented swords, till Tristan struck Riol just where
the helmet buckles, and it yielded and the blow was struck so hard
that the baron fell on hands and knees; but when he had risen again,
Tristan struck him down once more with a blow that split the helm, and
it split the headpiece too, and touched the skull; then Riol cried
mercy and begged his life, and Tristan took his sword.
So he promised to enter Duke Hoël’s keep and to swear homage again,
and to restore what he had wasted; and by his order the battle ceased,
and his host went off discomfited.
Now when the victors were returned Kaherdin said to his father:
“Sire, keep you Tristan. There is no better knight, and your land has
need of such courage.”